


I Trace The Nightmare On Your Skin

by lea_ysaye



Series: There's No Waking From The Horror [2]
Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rickyl, Showers, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-09
Updated: 2016-12-09
Packaged: 2018-09-07 12:21:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8800600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lea_ysaye/pseuds/lea_ysaye
Summary: Reunited at the Hilltop, taking stock.





	

“You guys can crash in my trailer tonight.”

Jesus holds out a key to Rick, who glances up from the camp bed he’s setting up in the Barrington House library, the make-shift dormitory for the unexpected Hilltop visitors.

“You sure?”

Jesus looks over to where Daryl is bent awkwardly in a half-crouch, trying to spread blankets over a second camp bed and not getting very far. While they watch the hunter straightens up with a wince and presses a hand against his ribcage.

“He needs a real bed, and a proper night’s sleep,” Jesus says quietly, eyes still on Daryl. “And a wash… There are clean clothes in the trunk by the door.” He half-grins, half-grimaces at Rick. “Your group’ll all be walking around in my stuff soon.”

Rick takes the key from the other man with a nod of thanks. “Who would’ve thought I’d ever call you a friend when we first met?” Rick returns the other man’s smile as best he can. “Thank you for getting him to safety, and for everything you’ve done for us.”

“You both deserve a break,” Jesus says, then goes to help Rosita push chairs and tables against a wall.

“Daryl…” Rick says in a low voice and walks over to his man. When the hunter looks up Rick shows him the key. “Private accommodation for the night, look.”

Daryl hesitates, chewing his lip. “Nah,” he says eventually. “’m good.”

“Come on, man,” Rick sighs. “You’ve been through hell, let us look after you, make sure you’re ok.”

“Rick…” Daryl’s expression is pained. “Ya don’t wanna come near me. ’m gross. Usually I don’t give a shit, but this…” He looks embarrassed, swaying slightly on the spot with distress, as if fixing to turn tail and run.

“They have bathrooms in those trailers.”

“I don’t think I can…” Daryl cradles his sore chest with one arm.

“I’ll help you. We’ll hop in the shower together, I wouldn’t mind a wash myself. C’mon, man.” Rick can hear the pleading in his own voice, and doesn’t care. “I still can’t believe I got you back in one piece. Let me fuss, just this once.”

Daryl sighs, his shoulders slump and he gives a jerky nod. Without another word or glance he sets off towards the front hall of the big house. Rick follows.

It _will_ be good for them to have some privacy, and for his man to sleep undisturbed. When Negan had brought Daryl to Alexandria Rick had been horrified by his condition. Now, if anything, he seems worse.

They cross through the compound as people are settling in for the night. Daryl walks ahead, limping a little. When they get to Jesus’s trailer he stops by the stairs and lets Rick go up first to unlock the door. As the hunter follows Rick up the few steps he stumbles, and Rick grabs him just before he can fall.

Groping in the dark for a moment Rick locates the light switch and a single, weak bulb flickers on overhead. The small room is functional and basic, but two camping heaters are running on full power, and coming in from the chill night air it feels cozily warm. Rick silently thanks the young man again for his solicitousness.

Daryl is already unbuttoning the shirt Rick has never seen on him before. Then he struggles with his boots for a moment, but just before Rick can offer help he manages to step out of them, leaning heavily on the back of a chair. The message is clear. Daryl wants to do this himself as much as he can, even if it hurts.

Rick starts to undress, but keeps his eyes on Daryl, whose movements are clumsy and slow. Finally the hunter stands naked before him, staring straight at the floor. Rick stops, hands on his belt buckle, his insides frozen in horror.

“Oh, buddy…”

Daryl’s chest and thighs are a map of blue and black and fading purple-green. His ribs are oddly swollen in several places. And he is filthy, he wasn’t exaggerating. The bullet wound on his shoulder seems to have been treated, but the scar looks raw and sore. Daryl is covering himself with his hands, something he’s never done before in front of Rick. He squirms under the scrutiny and quickly turns towards the only door in the little room.

“Let’s jus’ do this…” Daryl sounds utterly done in.

Rick quickly finishes undressing and follows Daryl into the bathroom. As he enters the small space the shower is just stuttering on. Daryl lifts one leg with a hiss and clambers into the cubicle awkwardly. Rick wants to reach out and steady him, but his hand stops halfway, unsure.

Somehow he manages to squeeze into the small space behind Daryl and pulls the door shut. It’s a tight fit, they’ll have to be careful not to slip. But Rick is determined to make this work. Daryl clearly needs help cleaning up. He’s leaning against the shower wall heavily, already starting to shiver.

“Can you lift your arms?”

Rick sees the hitch in the muscles of Daryl’s back, the stiffness all through his body as his hunter obliges. The familiar scars shift and ripple as he braces his forearms against the wall with a shaky sigh. Rick takes a sponge from a small shelf under the shower head. He soaks it with warm water and lathers some liquid soap into it. But then he stops, suddenly uncertain. How to do this without hurting his man?

“Oh, buddy,” he says again. “What did he do to you?”

“’s ok.” Daryl turns his head slightly; Rick catches a flash of azure flecked with pain. “Doc says I’ll heal alright.”

Rick sighs, scanning the broad back before him that looks so fragile now, covered in those colors that have no business on human skin. He raises the sponge and lets warm water and soap run over Daryl’s arms, mindful to keep the fresh stitches on the shoulder mostly dry.

“Tell me if I’m hurting you,” Rick murmurs and wets the sponge again, then slides it lightly down the glistening skin of Daryl’s back. When he gets to the sides, and the badly swollen ribs, he merely dabs at the purplish patches. As dirt, blood and sweat are rinsed away the bruises stand out more and more starkly against the paleness of Daryl’s body. Rick’s heart hurts with every gush of warm water and soap that washes away the grime and filth.

Daryl stands silently, head lowered, breaths coming too shallow and fast. Every now and then he flinches, which causes Rick to abandon the area he’s just been working on.

Rick exerts slightly more pressure when the sponge passes over Daryl’s neck and the uninjured shoulder, and Daryl thanks him with a small hum. The muscles here are knotted and hard, and Rick longs to release that discomfort. Later, maybe.

“Can you stand up straight so I can do your hair? It’s ok if not, it can wait…”

Daryl raises his head and straightens up. “’s ok,” he says again.

The long hair is a sweaty, tangled mess and Rick doesn’t envy Daryl the experience of having it brushed out later. He cards through it carefully with both hands a few times, trying to get rid of the worst knots. Daryl gives a shudder.

“Sorry, man...”

“’s not you.” With a groan Daryl presses one hand on his middle.

“Stomach cramps?”

“Yeah,” Daryl breathes, now leaning forward again and wrapping one arm around his belly.

“You’re not used to that much food anymore,” Rick says, worried. But he doesn’t feel he can touch Daryl. The hunter won’t allow it, not merely for comfort.

Rick curses himself for being stupid. He’d watched Daryl at dinner, sitting apart by himself but eating with enthusiasm everything brought before them. He’d been glad then, that Daryl saw his own needs met for once. Now Rick realizes that his hunter had been starving, and that too much food all at once would invariably lead to this.

“Did he feed you at all?”

After a moment Daryl shrugs. He straightens up a little and throws Rick a fleeting glance. “Keep goin’,” he says.

“If you’re sure...” Rick takes a bottle of shampoo from the shelf. “Tell me if you feel sick.”

“Yeah.”

Rick moves quickly now. He works the shampoo into Daryl’s hair, then nudges the hunter gently under the weak jet and helps him rinse the long strands out. It’s difficult keeping the bullet wound on Daryl’s shoulder protected from suds and water, but finally the hair is more or less clean and soap free.

“Turn around.”

Daryl obliges, bracing himself again immediately against the flimsy cubicle walls. His teeth are chattering; Rick knows that it’s only a matter of minutes before his man simply won’t be able to stand up any longer.

It’s all about speed now. Rick hands Daryl a wash cloth and Daryl rubs at his face. The skin that emerges from under the grime is waxy gray. Rick helps again with Daryl’s chest and belly, mindful not to press hard on his stomach, or any broken ribs. But as Rick’s hand wanders down Daryl stops him. “I’ll do, ya know…the rest…”

His eyes finally meet Rick’s, and they’re flat and dull with exhaustion. There’s not even strength left now for embarrassment. Rick keeps his eyes on Daryl as the hunter angles awkwardly under the jet and does his best with the wash cloth. The water swirling around their feet slowly turns from black to gray to clear. Rick keeps his hands to himself but stays alert, poised to catch Daryl should his strength falter or his feet slip. As soon as Daryl has rinsed off the last of the soap Rick reaches around him and turns off the water.

“Don’t move yet, I’m getting a towel.”

Rick slides the shower door open and reaches for two towels, the bigger of which he drapes around Daryl. Then he steps out of the cubicle and beckons.

“Take my arm.”

Daryl’s hands on Rick’s skin are hot and slick as he clambers from the shallow shower basin. As soon as he has both feet under himself Daryl turns and walks past Rick into the trailer’s main room. He makes straight for the bed and sits down shakily. This is the end of Daryl’s strength, and he couldn’t have stayed on his feet another minute.

Head lowered, arms wrapped around his middle again Daryl cowers on the bed. His shoulders droop and he sways slightly, breaths hitching in his busted chest. Rick quickly dries himself off as he walks over and sits down next to Daryl. From that vantage point he can see the purplish shadows under Daryl’s eyes, which are mere slits as he fights to stay awake.

“Buddy, when did you last sleep?”

Daryl shrugs and turns his head away. Rick gives a sigh. “C’mere…” He unwraps the towel from around Daryl and pats him dry as carefully and quickly as he can. Then he finds them both underwear in the chest by the door. This time Daryl doesn’t need to be told to hold on as Rick helps him to his feet. He clings on hard as Rick helps him into fresh boxer shorts, but then lets go and crawls onto the bed without a word.

Rick gets it, that Daryl struggles to talk or even think about what has happened, the state he’s in. But Rick worries. What happened to his hunter? And how can he help?

Nothing will be resolved tonight. Rick turns down the heaters and kills the light, then joins Daryl, whose back is turned.

They lie in the dark, not speaking, though Rick knows that despite his exhaustion Daryl is still awake. Finally, the hunter turns around.

“Rick…” A hand gropes in the dark and alights on Rick’s chest. Wordlessly Rick moves closer and pulls Daryl into his arms. “Rick?” Daryl says again, muffled against Rick’s neck.

“What, buddy?”

“Don’t ask me ‘bout it…”

Rick buries his face in the still damp hair, kisses Daryl’s temple, sensing tension warring with the desperate need for sleep in his man.

“Alright,” he whispers against the scent of unfamiliar shampoo, feeling his man’s warm, heavy, alive body in his arms. “Alright. I won’t.”


End file.
